


Sherlocked, a prompt challenge

by Suzanne_Ely



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Multi, Post-Reichenbach, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzanne_Ely/pseuds/Suzanne_Ely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>« Sherlocked » was a prompt challenge that took place in February 2012. Its theme was « Series 2 ».<br/>I came across the stories I wrote for this festival and thought I could share it with the Sherlock fans around here. I’ll put a prompt/chapter so that nobody gets lost in the reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _Inheritance_  
 **Pairing:** Mycroft/Anthea   
**Prompt:** Mycroft opens up (in a Mycroft sort of way) post-Reichenbach about his guilty feelings.  
 **Warning:** Post Reichenbach Fall, meaning that for those who haven’t seen episode 2x03, it might be a little cryptic!

 

The car stopped in the main alley of the graveyard, but the man didn’t step out. He glanced through the window instead. The woman known as Anthea shifted next to him, looking up from her smartphone to stare at her boss. He was very still, apparently lost in his thoughts. His assistant waited, but when it became obvious that he wouldn’t leave his daydream on his own will, she decided to interfere:

“Sir,” she said gently. “You’ll be late.”

He sighed deeply and leant back in the seat, his features expressing something like confusion. Anthea couldn’t understand what had driven him to come in this place, especially now. After all, he didn’t even show up at the funeral…

She suddenly realised that his eyes were locked into hers and she swallowed hard. She always felt like a prey at the mercy of a predator when he was looking straight into her eyes. She usually tried to avoid those awkward moments when he seemed to read her mind as clearly as in an open book.

“I couldn’t go to the funeral. It was not an option. You have to understand that.”

She nodded, hoping that this would be it. Even if he was talking in a soft voice, the authoritative tone underneath was creepy. She preferred when he was directing it to someone else. But he wasn’t done just yet. In fact, she had involuntarily opened a Pandora box.

“Guilt is a very peculiar feeling, my dear. It’s like a booby trap planted to surprise an enemy when he expects it the least.”

He paused, as if to recollect some memories and went on:

“It’s so easy to pretend that guilt is irrelevant. National security comes first; sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. It all comes down to the number of justifications one can find to cast away the feeling of guilt. But in the end, what’s left is only a person, a conscience…. a family bond that cannot be ignored in spite of every effort made. And when the mistake appears in its full horror, all the justifications simply disappear and guilt takes over. Crushes the person and its conscience. The shame of realising that it was all an act carefully planned erases everything. National Security was never an issue. It was all about one single man. And my inheritance shall be guilt.”

He went silent and Anthea carefully asked:

“Excuse me, Sir, what are you talking about?”

Mycroft Holmes sent her a faint smile:

“You’re right. I’ll be late. Let’s go, shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** _Have yourself a little Holmesian argument_  
 **Pairing:** Mycroft/Molly/Sherlock  
 **Prompt:** Mycroft and Molly helped Sherlock engineer his fake death. Afterward Sherlock stays in contact with Molly, but not Mycroft. Mycroft is not happy.  
 **Warning:** Post Reichenbach Fall

 

He didn’t have second thoughts when he gave the order. It was childish, of course, yet he couldn’t help but feel both jealous and hurt.

He hadn’t realised just how loyal she was. She was an asset, not a liability. Molly Hooper was not a genius, but she was resourceful. She was naïve, but she was dedicated. She had shown her value when they engineered Sherlock’s suicide. After that, Mycroft had paid her some visits, only to feel his frustration grow. Sherlock was now off the grid. Dead to the world.  
Dead to him as well.

He hadn’t contacted Mycroft. Not once. But he was still in contact with Molly. Of all people, he had chosen her.  
The thought was surprisingly hurtful and Mycroft closed his hand around his phone, unable to bring himself to text his brother. 

Molly genuinely thought that the brothers kept in touch. Mycroft simply acknowledged the news, as if he knew already. “ _Sherlock is all settled”, “Sherlock has found a job as caretaker, can you believe that?”, “Sherlock asked about Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson”._ Every bit of information was like the point of a knife opening a wound every time. It was Sherlock’s way of punishing him for causing his fall. It was well deserved. Yet, it hurt Mycroft’s pride and feelings. 

He had therefore stopped visiting Molly.  
And realised that he still wanted to get his newsfeed. 

That’s when he decided to tap her phone. He read every in- and outcoming text messages. But his frustration kept growing as time passed. Sherlock never stopped texting Molly. But he never texted his brother. 

On that morning, Mycroft paid one last visit to the young woman, surprising her in the middle of her work.  
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “It’s been a while.”  
“Indeed.”   
An awkward silence.   
“I need Sherlock’s number.”   
Her astonished look said it all. She opened the mouth, closed it, then opened it again:  
“I don’t know… maybe he doesn’t want you to have… I should ask him first…”   
 _Loyal to the bone._    
“Oh, don’t be stupid! You know I could get the damn number if I wanted to,” he shouted impatiently.   
She didn’t need to know that he had it already. He had to do things by the book if he wanted to get Sherlock’s trust back.   
“OK,” she finally said and wrote the number down.   
 _She even knows it by heart…_    
“Thanks.” 

He took the piece of paper and walked away, without looking back. His frustration was now becoming painful. At least he didn’t need to beg… 

 From: MH  
 _Sherlock, I’m sorry._  

From: SH  
 _Prove it._

 From: MH  
 _How?_  

From: SH  
 _Be creative._  

From: SH  
 _And stop reading Molly’s texts._  

Mycroft Holmes winced and poured himself another glass of Scotch. It would take some time to solve that little brotherly quarrel. And Mommy wouldn’t be very impressed in them. _Again._


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** _The Man with the umbrella_  
 **Pairing:** Ned/Chuck/Sherlock  
 **Prompt:** Sherlock, Pushing Daisies crossover: Sherlock has actually died in the fall. It takes Ned to bring him back to life and Sherlock's persuasiveness to stay alive...  
 **Warning:** Post Reichenbach Fall

 

She lowered the newspaper and Ned was stricken by the sudden change in her features. Her smile had vanished and the twinkle in her eyes was gone. All of a sudden, the sun seemed to have stopped shining.

“He is dead,” she said softly.  
He raised an eyebrow and looked down at the paper. The air around him seemed to get cooler as he read.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES TAKES HIS OWN LIFE**

“We should have come earlier,” sighed Chuck.  
“Says here that he jumped off a roof yesterday. How could we have come earlier? He sent his email on the day he died…”  
He still remembered the words very clearly:

_You’re needed to assist in a case. Can’t close it without you._

And it was signed Sherlock Holmes.

They had taken the next flight, excited about both the perspective of meeting Sherlock Holmes and the small holiday in London. Of course it was crazy. Sherlock Holmes contacting them and them rushing at the other end of the world without thinking about it twice. They had laughed about the adventure, but they weren’t laughing anymore.  
“According to the article, he is at St Bart’s Hospital. Let’s go!” Decided Ned.

 They were standing in front of the hospital, ignoring the faint rain falling.  
“How do you plan to get to see the body?” Asked Chuck.  
“Simply by asking to see it,” was the answer. 

The main hall was empty save for a well dressed-man carrying an umbrella, who passed next to them without giving them a look and walked towards the exit.  
Avoiding on purpose the reception’s desk, the couple followed the signs and went down to the Morgue. There, they were greeted by a woman in her mid-thirties who strangely seemed out of place in the cold and silent atmosphere. She was cheerful and asked the purpose of their visit. When Ned boldly asked to see Sherlock Holmes’ body, she frowned and wanted to know more about them. Surprisingly, as soon as Ned introduced himself, her smile returned and she ushered them in a room, not different from the one they were used to in their local morgue. She opened one of the drawers and pulled out the body covered with the traditional white sheet, before leaving the couple alone.  
“Is it me or is that rather strange?” Asked Chuck.   
Ned nodded: “It’s almost as if…”  
“She was expecting our visit,” finished her companion. 

They looked down at the shape laying in front of them and Chuck revealed the face of the world famous consulting detective.   
“Ready?”  
As soon as Ned touched his temple, the man jerked and opened the eyes, expressing the usual confusion which lasted no longer than three seconds.  
“Oh good, you made it!” Exclaimed Sherlock.  
He sat on the metallic bed and quickly scanned the room. Ned collected himself and sent a quizzical look at Chuck who was already checking her watch. The detective smiled and jumped out of the table, wrapping the sheet around him.  
“I have a feeling of _déjà vu_ ,” he sighed.   
Ned was starting to feel like he was losing control over the whole situation and he cleared his throat to get Sherlock’s attention.  
“OK, you’ve got less than a minute to tell me how to close the case you were referring to,” he said in a voice he hoped was steady.  
“What?” Asked the detective, before he started laughing. “Oh, _that_! No, no, you got it wrong. I needed you alright, but only to resuscitate me. Case closed! You fulfilled your mission, perfect timing, off you go!”  
And with that, Holmes clapped in his hands. 

Both Chuck and Ned exchanged a shocked looked as they realised what the detective implied.  
“I’m sorry, no, it doesn’t work that way…” Said Ned taking a step toward Sherlock.  
“Really?”   
There was something slightly irritating about the self-satisfaction in the deceased man’s tone.   
“Yes, _really_. You’re dead and you have to remain that way.”  
“Says who?”  
“Says me.”  
“What a terrible responsibility it is! Do you have the credentials to play God?”  
The sarcasm didn’t escape Ned whose patience was wearing thin. As they talked, both men had been engaged in some strange dance. Whenever the American was taking a step towards him, the Brit was retreating. Soon, they were walking in circles, while Chuck’s unease was growing.  
“25 seconds,” she suddenly said.  
“One minute can seem rather too long or too short, depending on the perspective, wouldn’t you agree?” Commented Sherlock Holmes, putting some more distance between him and Ned.  
“That’s why you called me here? To bring you back to life? Was that the only reason?”  
“You sound disappointed. Of course it was. I couldn’t let that brilliant mind of mine simply vanish because of a criminal mastermind. What a waste it would be! Think about it, all those cases… all the… fun I would miss!”  
Ned shook his head. A little voice in his mind has started to trouble him. He had been one of Holme’s numerous admirers; he had worshiped his unique ability to solve crimes. And now he was about to send him back to death just to respect some cosmic balance. It wasn’t fair.   
“Don’t make it more difficult… please,” pleaded the young man, realising how lame it sounded.  
“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it yourself.”  
“I didn’t know that you were dead!” Shouted Ned.  
“And yet you came here…” Smiled the detective.  
The man had a point. Why did he come at the morgue in the first place? Did he really fool himself in believing it would be easy to send the great Sherlock Holmes back to death? Did he only want some time with him, just because he so badly wanted to know him, even for one little minute? Or was he so sure he would be denied access to the body that he didn’t think about any other scenario?   
“You could have chosen not to touch me at all…” Whispered Holmes, following Ned’s thoughts.   
“10 seconds.”  
Chuck’s voice was tense and Ned spontaneously turned to her and begged:   
“What do I do now?”  
His distress was so obvious that the woman remained stricken by his plea and couldn’t say a word.   
“Now, if you really want me dead, you have less than ten seconds to run and touch me. But I really doubt that you want to do so. I know that you want me to stay alive. You’re wasting time in the hope that it will be too late.”  
“Someone is going to die!” Cried Ned out in despair. 

Sherlock’s face went blank as Moriarty’s voice echoed in his mind.   
“That’s what people DO!”   
His exact words. Then his next thought went to Molly. She was at risk too, but as soon as the thought occurred, Mycroft’s voice replaced it:  
“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”  
The detective focused on Ned and spoke in a very low voice:  
“You’re right. The decision is yours. I won’t move. It’s your call now.”  
Chuck swallowed hard. If Ned ran, he could still make it. Sherlock Holmes would be dead forever. She couldn’t take her eyes out of the two men facing each other, eyes locked. Ned seemed rooted to the ground. She couldn’t look down at the watch. She simply couldn’t. Time seemed to have stopped.

 And then they heard a crash and someone screamed, calling for help. A woman’s voice. Molly’s. 

 

The well-dressed man was holding his umbrella. It was raining. He saw as the American couple and Sherlock Holmes walked out of the hospital. He had overheard some nurses speaking about a tragic accident. Some bloke had broken his neck falling in the stairs, as he was en route to the morgue. Poor Molly Hooper had witnessed the scene.  
The victim’s identity was none of his concern. He knew what it meant. The man with the umbrella lit up a cigarette and smiled. All was back to normal. _Almost_. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** _Stranger in the Night_  
 **Pairing:** Mrs. Hudson/ Sherlock/Mycroft/Lestrade  
 **Prompt:** A lady, an asexual, and the government walk into a pub . . .  
Back in the old days, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, and Mycroft used to get along quite well. Used to go out to dinner, the theatre, and for drinks on the weekend. Then one day, they all went to a pub together and there he was: Greg Lestrade. Smitten. Head over heels. All three. Who got to go home with Greg that night?  
 **Note:** This little story is dedicated to Rachel, she knows why! :)

 

Mrs. Hudson looked at the two men at her side and smiled. It had been her idea to go in a Pub on that special evening. It was always quite revealing to follow a tradition dictated by society, especially in the company of two persons who found it hard to adapt to its standards.   
She could admit it without shame: she enjoyed her entrance with two good-looking men at her arm. Everyone looked at the strange appearance and she didn’t need a consulting detective to tell that some customers wondered if it was mother and sons or if it was a little more shocking than that. She fantasised a few seconds about dating the Holmes brothers at the same time.  
She glanced at Sherlock. He was obviously studying the people engaged in what he called a commercial and useless ritual. She couldn’t picture herself romantically involved with him. She felt like he was a member of her family. She did care for him a great deal, yet she wasn’t attracted. Was she getting too old for a little flirt?  
She then looked at Mycroft, who was staring at his glass of scotch, a frown on his face. There was something almost ridiculous in this well-dressed man, known as the Ice Man, who actually looked like a kid dragged somewhere against his will. He was Sherlock’s older brother, had quite a good situation and was rather handsome… 

“Come on, dear, you’ll ruin the whole evening, I can see the dark clouds gathering over your head.” 

As she extended her hand to cover Mycroft’s, he startled and looked up, crossing her glance. He carefully smiled, while putting his hands out of reach. Mrs. Hudson wondered if he did it on purpose. The man seemed to just hate physical contact. Even shaking hands seemed to greatly annoy him.

 Sherlock scoffed and Mrs. Hudson sighed. With those two, it was almost impossible to think, let alone have a normal conversation. They would immediately deduct what she was thinking at one precise moment… and were also sometimes a step ahead of her. 

“Boys, can you behave for this single evening, at least?”  
“I don’t like Valentine’s Day,” replied Mycroft under his breath. 

Both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson chose to ignore the comment. The brothers had promised the lady that they would accompany her in a Pub on one evening she would choose. Sherlock had expected a trick, but even him had to admit that there was some logic in her choice. He was about to make a comment out loud but his mouth remained open and no sound came out. A figure had caught his attention. He had seen someone who had triggered a very interesting chemical reaction. His heart was beating faster and he suddenly felt an unusual warmth. And there, the newcomer appeared in his sight again. 

His thoughts turned into turmoil and he realised too late that he had led his brother to misunderstand his reaction. What he thought had lasted minutes, had in fact, lasted a couple of seconds. Enough time for Mycroft to be under the false impression that Sherlock wanted a refill of his small beer, Mrs. Hudson having been complaining about her glass being empty not long ago. And with a terrible sense of clarity, Sherlock saw his brother standing up, grabbing the glasses, and turning to make his way to the bar, not realising that he had involuntary placed himself in a collision course with the handsome man who couldn’t avoid him. Mrs. Hudson shrieked out of surprise. The glasses seemed to fly in slow motion in the air and landed violently on the floor, where they mixed in an embrace of broken pieces. Sherlock was able to see this and more. His brother – he had indeed lost a few pounds considering how he – lost his balance and was about to fall when the man steadied him by holding him firmly. The shocked look on Mycroft’s face was rather confusing. The collision had been unexpected. But the grip of the stranger had have quite an effect on him. The hands grabbing his upper arms had sent some sort of electrical discharge and the eldest Holmes had found himself unable to move, as if under the spell of the man’s eyes locked in his. 

“I’m sorry,” he said in a friendly tone. “I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll of course buy you another drink.” 

When he got no reaction, an expression of concern crossed the stranger’s face and he turned towards the table. Sherlock spontaneously stood, followed by Mrs. Hudson, who had experienced a change of heart as soon as she witnessed the incident. As soon as she saw the man, she easily pictured herself in his arms. So well, that she couldn’t help but imagine a passionate kiss and she too felt a long lost warmth taking over her body. 

“He is alright,” she said, her voice as soft and deep as velvet. “He just doesn’t like to be touched”  
 _But I do!_ She thought, before quickly joining the one she had renamed Adonis as he was letting go of Mycroft, who took a step back, whispering a quiet “Thank you”.  
“What’s your name, sweetie?” Asked Mrs. Hudson who had become suddenly very aware of the competition she was engaged into. Both Sherlock and Mycroft had turned into potential rivals and she wasn’t going to leave them the slightest chance …  
“Greg Lestrade…”  
He sent her a charming smile and Mrs. Hudson’s heart melted.  
“Care to offer me a drink?”  
She sensed more than she saw both Sherlock and Mycroft approaching and she felt some primal jealousy run into her veins:  
“Boys,” she said, still gazing into Lestrade’s eyes. “I think it’s bedtime for you. You wouldn’t miss an occasion to run away from a Valentine party, now would you? And be careful on the way home, I won’t have time to look after you if you get mugged.”   
She waved in their direction and the brothers exchange a glance and a smile of complicity.  
“Maybe you should ask your new boyfriend what he thinks about… a foursome?”  
Greg’s eyes widened and Mrs. Hudson turned towards the Holmes, obviously shocked:  
“Mycroft!”  
“Oh, come on,” he shrugged. “You should tell him straight away about your tastes…”  
Sherlock nodded and sent an apologetic smile to Lestrade:  
“She is a very difficult woman to please… It already takes the two of us and it seems that she is ready for more… So feel free to join our little… family.”  
Both brothers sent a charming smile to Lestrade who cleared his throat:  
“I see, well… hum… thanks for the offer… I really appreciate it but… I have other plans for the night. I just remembered I had an appointment… Goodnight…” 

And with that he walked away as quickly as politeness would allow. When Mrs. Hudson turned towards the Holmes brothers, she didn’t need to speak out her state of mind: it could be read on her face.  
“I think that my dear house… landlady is right, it’s long passed bedtime, Mycroft… we should go home… By the way, I would very much like to take on your invitation to spend a night at yours…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** The Bond  
 **Pairing:** Sherlock/Mycroft/John  
 **Prompt:** What if after Sherlock comes back, that John makes a habit of grabbing his wrist and checking for a pulse as subtly as he can. Sherlock knows of course, but let’s him. It makes John feel better, more assured, so he doesn’t mind it. Soon though, it becomes a thing John does without thinking, and for the rest of their lives, John will check for a pulse in Sherlock’s wrist. Just to make sure he’s still real.

 

The first time, he didn’t really pay attention. John Watson was a doctor who had believed his closest friend dead. So maybe it was just some normal doctor habit. Sherlock didn’t react either, as if it was perfectly normal. 

The second time, he made a comment:  
“He is alive, I can assure you of that, John.”  
The doctor’s embarrassment had been funny to witness, until Sherlock snorted:  
“Shut up Mycroft, or leave.” 

The third time, he didn’t say anything and contemplated the two men. They all sat around the table for breakfast, and, suddenly, John Watson had grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and checked for a pulse. Sherlock hadn’t paused in his sentence and his eyes fell on Mycroft’s, daring him to make any comment, which he didn’t, but wondered instead why his younger brother was encouraging his friend in what had obviously become a habit. 

He thought that it was the temporary expression of a traumatic shock, but was proven wrong. The doctor never stopped. He would randomly take Sherlock’s pulse, sometimes consciously, sometimes not. John Watson needed to feel secure and that was the only possible way. Mycroft never commented anymore, silent witness of the unusual bond between Sherlock and John. 

Once, just once, Sherlock had mentioned it as Watson had left the room.  
“You know that I can read you, Mycroft. I too feel sorry that you were never able to build the same bond with anyone.”  
Mycroft had tightened his grip on his umbrella and Sherlock had smiled.  
When John came back in the room and checked for his friend’s pulse, Mycroft realised that he couldn’t stand it anymore and left briskly. 

Standing in the rain, under his umbrella, Mycroft Holmes exhaled deeply, trying to fight the depressing thought that threatened to make its nest in his mind.

_He too wished to have someone who cared about him as much as Dr. John Watson did care about Sherlock._


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** _Our Little Secret_  
 **Pairing:** Mycroft/Molly/mention of John and Mrs. Hudson  
 **Prompt:** Molly, Mycroft; discussing the burden of knowing the truth, and seeing the effect of Sherlock's "death" on others while knowing it's a lie.

Molly Hooper shifted in her seat and looked at the man sitting opposite to her. The invitation had been unexpected and had worried her a bit. She had seen Mycroft Holmes on two occasions only: once during the identification of a certain body and the other one when Sherlock had “died”. The man was discrete to the extreme. Molly knew nothing about him except that he was Sherlock’s older brother and that they both shared the same secret. 

“I haven’t told anybody”, she said out of the blue.  
“I know,” was the quiet answer.

They waited in silence for the drinks to arrive. Mycroft had invited her in a small café in the heart of the City, far from the hospital and from Baker Street. It was a cosy and quiet place, almost empty at this time of the day. Soon it would be filled with employees enjoying their lunch break. 

“Luckily, I’m allowed flexi-time,” smiled Molly.  
“It could have been arranged.” 

She nodded and drank from her cappuccino. _Too hot._ She suddenly decided that from the two brothers, Sherlock was the most normal. 

“I’ve asked to join me…” started Holmes, before pausing as if at a loss of words.  
“Yes?” Encouraged him Molly.  
“To discuss something…”  
“What?”  
“Our little secret.” 

She casted him a glance and was surprised by the hollow expression she read in his eyes. She looked down at her cup and he went on:  
“How do you cope?”  
She sighed: “Some days are easier than others.”  
“I see.”  
There was suspicion in his voice and she added:  
“None of my friends knew him, you see, therefore it’s not that difficult not to talk about him. But I feel sorry for Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson. How do _you_ cope?” 

The man shrugged. His indifference towards people had stricken her already. He was one of those who didn’t care about the ordinary problems of ordinary people. She had witnessed him organise Sherlock’s new life in a business like manner and she had been scared, wondering who he really was. 

“Did you see Dr. Watson or Mrs. Hudson?” She asked out of curiosity.

He nodded. He had seen both separately. John’s grief had taken him once more to the Diogenes Club where he had blamed Mycroft for his brother’s death. The whole scene had been painful. The soldier had lost it and Mycroft had failed to calm him down.  
“You know what you are Mycroft Holmes? A murderer! A bloody murderer! Do you only realise what you have done?”  
Watson had been very close to punch him, but had been escorted out instead. Mycroft hadn’t seen or heard from him since. 

As for Mrs. Hudson, he had visited her at 221B Baker Street. She had cried, of course, especially when he told her that he wanted to keep the flat just the way it was. She had said something about turning the page and taking a new tenant, but he managed to convince her. All things considered, it did go quite well. 

“Do you think that Sherlock will be able to come back… one day?” Asked carefully Molly.  
Mycroft didn’t reply and took a sip of his tea, then spoke:  
“What about you, Miss Hooper; did you see Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson?” 

She confirmed that she had seen both, before insisting that she hadn’t betrayed Sherlock’s secret. Dr. Watson had come to apologise to her, saying that the place bore too many memories and that this was his last visit. He spoke about moving away, out of London. She hadn’t heard from him since. She was however still in touch with Mrs. Hudson. Both women met occasionally. Sherlock’s landlady had told her about Mycroft being such a strange man.  
“Keeping the flat in its state, as if his brother was still around, isn’t that creepy?”  
As time passed, she spoke less about her deceased tenant and more about her hip, to Molly’s relief. 

“I feel so bad for them…” She concluded.  
“They will get over it eventually,” said casually Mycroft. 

Again, his coldness made her shiver and Molly found herself regretting that he didn’t die instead of Sherlock, before dismissing the thought, ashamed.  
They drank in silence and Mycroft finally rose.  
“What did you want to talk about, really?” Asked quickly the woman, who found it hard to believe that he simply wanted to chat about Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson.  
He put some money on the table and smiled:  
“I wanted to check on you, Miss Hooper, nothing more. I wish you a pleasant day.”

When Molly recovered from her surprise, Mycroft Holmes had already left the café.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** _Sherlock 4ever_  
 **Pairing:** Mycroft/Molly/Greg/Sherlock  
 **Prompt:** Molly is being worn down by the burden of bearing Sherlock's secret after his apparent suicide, and is ecstatic to find out Mycroft is "in the loop." They bond over this shared knowledge and it becomes something almost...romantic. The only problem is, she's also being romanced by Lestrade who is finally through his divorce. She cares for them both, very much, and is in a panic about what to do. Happy M/L/M ending is preferred.

It was a genuine smile. The relief on her face almost worried him. She looked like as if she was about to hug him and he took a step back, as a simple precaution.  
“So, you know!?” She repeated ecstatic.  
“Of course I do. I’m his brother. The only one who has the means and the money to support him while he has gone underground.”  
“I’m so happy!”  
Mycroft Holmes raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. 

Sherlock Holmes was concerned about Molly. The burden of the secret was heavy and he wanted to make sure that she was alright with it. Mycroft had agreed to pay her a visit during which he managed to mention that he too was well aware about the fake death. He had expected some relief from her side, but the joy that overwhelmed her was rather surprising. When she asked if they could meet again – claiming it would make the whole keeping the secret easier – he felt as if he had been trapped. He couldn’t refuse. He had made one mistake already and wasn’t just ready to be responsible for another one. 

_Sherlock.  
_ _Did you set me up as a personal revenge?  
_ _I told you already. I’m sorry.  
_ _I’m supporting you.  
_ _Did I really deserve this punishment?  
_ _MH_  

Sherlock Holmes crushed the small note in his hands and smiled. He was already trying to figure out how long it would take to his brother to beg him for mercy. A few days at the most. But in the meantime, the entertainment would be amusing.  

Molly was just telling an anecdote about Sherlock – another one – when she noticed that her companion’s attention was drifting away. Molly was enjoying her lunch break at a terrace and Mycroft had joined her. For him, it was the perfect arrangement. She was eating alone most of the time and he could spare one hour of his busy schedule. They were meeting twice a week and strangely enough, Molly seemed to enjoy his company, probably because he reminded her of Sherlock, a man she was very fond of, or so he thought.  
“You’re not listening!”  
He gazed at her: “Sorry, what?”  
“I said: you’re no longer listening.”  
He could sense the reproaching tone and he smiled apologetically:  
“Let’s have dinner.”  
Did he really say that out loud? Obviously yes, if he trusted Molly’s astonished face. She had already forgotten about him not listening to her.  
“Are you serious?” She asked.  
“I’m always serious. But there will be one condition though. No mention of Sherlock whatsoever. We won’t talk about him for one evening. Now, would you like to have dinner with me?”  
She thought about it for a few seconds and a smile blossomed on her lips: “Yes.” 

_You must be kidding, Mycroft. A dinner with Molly? Since when are you interested in her? SH_ _  
__Since you forced me to meet with her on a regular basis. MH_  

Mycroft’s eyes twinkled with amusement. No doubt that even Sherlock Holmes had been surprised. Truth be said, he had surprised himself.  Twice. First by inviting Molly out and second by actually enjoying the dinner. Behind the clumsy figure was a charming and intelligent woman. Her potential was buried deep within her low self-esteem. A pity.  
She too had spent a good time with him, even if they both had to thank the wine to help them feel more at ease with each other. When Mycroft announced that he planned on spending more lunch breaks with her, Molly’s smile made him feel special, a rather unusual feeling for him. 

“I should have known better,” he muttered to himself and drank the content of his glass in one go.  
The strong alcohol cleared the clouds in his mind and he relaxed in the arm-chair, thinking about the past two weeks.  
Molly and Mycroft had grown closer. The lunch breaks had become a habit, more like a ritual.  
When he saw Inspector Lestrade, sitting with Molly and laughing with her on that day, he felt betrayed and was about to walk around when the young woman noticed him and waved him to join them. Lestrade shook his hand, obviously comfortable to see him there, with Molly. Yet he should have been surprised to see Molly and Mycroft together. They were from two different worlds; it was almost shocking to see them together.  
Lestrade knew. Since the beginning. Molly and him were friends. Close friends. Had been since Sherlock’s death. The inspector had felt sorry for the girl and had watched over her.   
The following day, Mycroft didn’t show up for lunch. 

_If I didn’t know you better, I would deduce that your heart is broken. That is if you have one. SH_  

Mycroft ignored the text and went out the next day. Molly greeted him with a smile. She didn’t mention his absence the day before, in fact, lunch went on as if nothing happened, until Lestrade showed up as they were ordering coffees.  
“I wanted to make things clear with you two,” said Molly, her voice slightly trembling. “I care for you both. You’re two very different men so I care differently for both of you, and I want us to keep it that way. I want to enjoy my lunch breaks with you Mycroft, and I want to share my after work drinks with you, Greg.”  
Lestrade nodded. Again, Mycroft had the strange feeling that he had known already. But he looked genuinely surprised and even disappointed when Molly added:  
“I want you two to be my friends, but nothing more. I can’t forget Sherlock… and it would be even worse if I dated one of you… you understand?”

  _You win, brother. MH_


End file.
